


Hopeless Wanderer

by JensenAckles13



Series: How Did It Happen? [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), WinterIron - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcoholic Tony, Angst, Bucky Needs Hugs, First Kisses, Ghosts, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Mini Bang, Out of Body Experiences, Spirits, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Winteriron Bang, idek, maybe? - Freeform, so does bucky, so does tony, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:57:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4570548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenAckles13/pseuds/JensenAckles13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Buchanan Barnes died when he fell from that train in the mountains; not in the literal sense, but very much in the figurative. He’d been molded into the Winter Soldier, the perfect assassin, by Hydra. But Bucky? He was still very much alive, trapped in his new Winter Soldier body, watching as this new him kills and hurts and demolishes. He doesn’t know what he would call himself- a ghost, maybe, a spirit. A soul? This goes on for seventy years, until one Tony Stark comes along and completely fucks up the life he’s trapped in. He watched the man struggle and hurt, seen him at his best and at his worst and somewhere along the way, Bucky fell in love with the self-made genius.<br/>And then.<br/>Then Tony almost dies, and suddenly, he can see Bucky- the ghost Bucky, who has been tied to him since he met him years ago, no longer stuck to the Winter Soldier.<br/>Its been one helluva ride, and Bucky’s new goal?<br/>Get his body back so he can kiss Tony senseless.<br/>Easy, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopeless Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> http://cat-solari.tumblr.com/post/126672761140/my-part-for-the-winteriron-bang-for-this-seriously
> 
> Link to art!!!

 

_It’s funny, really, how we still think we’re the only life forms in the universe, the only living planet even when we come up with stories about how alone we’re not_

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_We’re a narcissistic species and the thought that we’re not the greatest thing to have ever been scares us more than anything could; more than war; more than death; more than love…because the idea that we’re not big enough to have made a difference, to have changed anything more than ourselves, that we didn’t matter is so terrifying that we’ve twisted our words instead_

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_words to describe love and heartbreak; words to describe life and death; words to describe good and evil; words to describe heroes and villains_

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_Then we gave them a name_

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_We called them stories_

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_We called them stories instead of recordings, instead of biographies, instead of realities and lives because it’s too hard to accept the fact that we’re too small to change something so large…because we hope that one day, there will be stories about us_

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_stories about love and heartbreak; stories about life and death; stories about good and evil; stories about heroes and villains_

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_They’ll tell our stories how every good story starts_

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_They’ll say_

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_Once upon a time…_

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_and the tales will go on as every tale does, with words of heroics that everyone wishes were about them_

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_That’s what we hope_

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_That one day, we can become the stories we’ve made the others before us, the fictions and the fictionals_

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_The ones who were better and worse than the betters and worses we’ve become_

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_The ones who fell and who are falling_

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_The ones we aren’t_

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_The ones we write stories for_

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_It’s a tribute of sorts; an apology, really;_

_I_ ’m sorry _, we say, f_ or pretending you never were and never will be  

**BEFORE:**

Once upon a time, he was James Buchanan Barnes, best friend to Steven Grant Rogers, best damn sniper in town, serving his country for some reason he couldn’t remember. Now? James Buchanan Barnes had been molded into the Winter Soldier, the perfect assassin, obedient and submissive- don’t ask, don’t tell kinda guy. The Winter Soldier was a cold, emotionless sonuvabitch with a metal arm and a black heart. He killed, he didn’t question and when all was said and done and his heart was aching for some unknown reason, they strapped him down to a chair and started it all over again.

But Bucky? He was still very much there.

He wouldn’t call himself a ghost, not really, but there wasn’t a proper name for whatever he was. A soul? A spirit? God knows what, but he’s still there, stuck somewhere between James and the Winter Soldier, not quite himself but not quite the assassin, either. See, he exists in the in-between places, never seen and never heard. He walks about, outside his old body _(the Soldier’s new body)_ , but is stuck following him around, never able to stray too far. He tried, once, and the world faded to black; he was pretty sure he’d gotten a good five hundred feet or so, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d woken right next to the Winter Soldier, and the bodies of Howard and Maria Stark, and the butler, whose name he later learned was Edwin, in the midst of shattered glass, fire and twisting metal. It had been made to look like an accident, of course. The headlines read that Howard was drunk, and no one even questioned why the butler wasn’t driving. They were too focused on the Starks’ _(not so much the butler’s)_ deaths, and the seventeen-year-old orphaned son.

There were hundreds of assassinations after that, hundreds of “accidents”, hundreds of bodies and they all made Bucky want to die- really die, though, not whatever this was. Because that face belonged to him, and the steely eyes were his own, and the hands that strangled and shot and stabbed were his own. The hands that killed. Even if he was stuck looking in from the outside, they were his and he damn well knew it. The only thing that wasn’t his was the metal arm where Bucky’s left once was- but Bucky was stuck with the empty space where it should have been. It got easier to deal with, after a while. Everything did. The death, the weapons, the orders, the damn chair.

Everything.

And then.

And then Tony Fucking Stark happened.

When he discovered he was no longer tied to the Winter Soldier, it was 2008. He’d seen things change, industrialize and innovate. He’d seen creation and destruction. He’d lived through the end of World War II and the fall of Hitler and the rise of Captain America. He’d seen concrete be replaced by steel and glass; planes morph into helicopters; he’d even attended a wedding, where a man had married another man and no one had even batted an eyelash.

But then; then he was blinking himself awake in a small Afghan cave, watching in horror as a man screamed and writhed on a gurney, strapped down with a fist sized hole in his chest. He’d thought he’d seen it all, by then. After what he’d witnessed the Winter Soldier do…he didn’t think it could get any worse. Boy, had he been wrong. There was lots of blood and no anesthetics, little metal shards being pulled from the man’s chest and a metal circle being pressed in instead, a car battery hooked to it with too many wires to count. By the time the men had finished with their…surgery…the younger man was passed out in a pool of his own blood, and Bucky would’ve vomited if he could have.

And then he discovered this was his new host; the man he was trapped with. He couldn’t leave, had to stay and watch as the man awoke and struggled for water with stiff, shaking hands; Bucky’s ghostly heart ached for the man, only made worse by the fact that he couldn’t do anything.

But he recognized the man now; recognized him as the seventeen-year-old orphaned boy all grown up.

So he watched the man struggle. Watched as he was held underwater and electrocuted by the very thing keeping him alive…watched it happen over and over again until he was screaming for the man-made orphaned boy to give in and just make the damn weapons. But, like all the other times, his pleas went unheard.

But then Tony had an idea. A brilliant one, one Yinsen was more than willing to help with and Bucky was more than willing to support, cheering them on even though they couldn’t hear it.

It was only during one of their late night conversations, though, that Bucky really got a true understanding of who the younger Stark was.

Stark, Yinsen and Bucky were all seated around the small fire, the other two eating what looked like mush in a bowl, sipping on their small rusted cups of dirty water.

“Do you have a family?” Stark asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two.

“I do. They’re waiting for me, wherever they are. What about you, Stark? Do you have a family to go back to?”

Stark was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire before shaking his head.

“No.”

And that one word answer was more than enough to hit Bucky right where it hurt. Because that was his fault- the other him. The Winter Soldier.

“Ah, so you’re a man with everything, and nothing at all?” In that moment, Bucky had never wanted to punch someone more than he did the old bastard sitting right in front of him. Because that? That was a dick move, hitting a man while he’s down.

“No,” Bucky murmured, staring intently at Stark’s face. “You have me.” Of course, they didn’t hear him and maybe it was better that way.

“S’pose you could say that,” Stark murmured, the fire reflecting in the deep brown of his eyes, making them look almost black against the shadows at his back. “Gotta do somethin’ though, don’t I? Got a world to better.”

“Well then,” Yinsen said with a tiny smile. “You’ve got a busy week, don’t you?”

Stark laughed, but Bucky had been there long enough that he could easily tell it was fake. Because when Stark really laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched up, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him even if you didn’t know what it was he was laughing about because it was so damn adorable. And it hurt so damn much seeing this empty shell of a man, compared to the boisterous, overwhelming Howard Stark. And maybe that was Bucky’s- no, the Winter Soldier’s- fault. He’d taken everything from the younger Stark and he hadn’t even cared.

When Stark got up and made his way to his cot, facing the wall with his back to the fire and Yinsen, Bucky peered over the man’s shoulder to see if he was going to sleep _(he rarely did)_ , and he felt his heart shatter when he saw the tears tracking clean trails down the man’s dirt-caked skin.

Three weeks later, they escaped. Well, they as in Stark and Bucky.

Yinsen never made it out of the cave.

As Stark had crushed the man’s hand tightly within his own and told him to get up, Bucky was able to see the anguish reflected in those expressive eyes; he’d learned to look there months ago, when Stark had woken up in the cave with fear in his eyes but none on his face. Stark spoke with his eyes, even if Yinsen didn’t seem to realize it. Bucky wondered how someone’s eyes could be so expressive, but if what he’d heard of Howard on the single time he’d heard the younger Stark talking about his father was true, Bucky figured that was the only way he could communicate.

“You have a family, c’mon, get up; this wasn’t the plan,” Stark said, voice empty and eyes screaming.

“They’re dead…Stark…this was…always…the plan…” And, the man took a gasping breath and uttered his last words.

“Don’t waste your life, Tony…”

And that was that.

Yinsen died, Stark put the faceplate on and blew the Ten Rings to high heaven, leaving nothing left but fire and ash.

And then?

The bastard fucking flew like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

It wasn’t so magnificent when he crashed, but he was alright, and that was all that mattered.

The three day trek through the dessert was long and exhausting, even for Bucky, who couldn’t even feel exhaustion. But then they were found by the soldiers, and when the black man jumped out and hugged Stark to his chest, murmuring “Next time, you’re riding with me,” and Stark laughed, Bucky cheered happily and followed the unaware men back into the helicopter.

When they returned, Bucky watched in awe as the man stood tall, shoulders back and head held high, his eyes shining with determination as he told a shocked crowd that he and his company would no longer be creating weapons. It was glorious and magnificent and Bucky had never wanted to be alive more, if only so he could crush Stark in a hug and tell him just how damn proud of him he was. Alas, he settled for crushing Tony Stark in a hug anyways, even if the man didn’t know it.

Then Obadiah Stane ushered Stark off stage with a plethora of promises to the shell-shocked crowd, and Bucky knew instantly that something was off about the man. He wasn’t sure what, but there was something that made Bucky want to get the Winter Soldier down here to do the job for him. However, that wasn’t how anything fucking worked, and Bucky was stuck glaring hatefully at the man, in hopes that the heat of it would spontaneously set the man on fire.

Weeks later, he figured out why he hated him when he was stuck staring in horror as Stane ripped the miniaturized arc reactor from Tony’s chest and left him paralyzed. Tears welled in his eyes as the older man went on a monologue about Howard and inventions and impossibilities and the woman named Pepper Potts that had met Tony with red rimmed eyes when he’d stepped off the helicopter from Afghanistan.

And then, just like that, the man was gone. And somehow, the bastard, Stark managed to crawl his way down to the lab, not quite able to reach the table where the spare reactor was sitting and for a moment, Bucky swore he was falling off that train all over again, but the clawed arm named Dummy moved down and handed it to him and Stark whispered fondly;

“Good boy.” And shattered the glass box.

“Damn straight you good fuckin’ boy!” Bucky cheered, feeling his pounding heart slow until he could breathe again. The clawed arm turned slightly towards him, claw tilted towards the side as if he’d heard him and for a moment, Bucky froze, wide-eyed and breathless, before the bot turned away as if to say “oh well,” to check on its master.

When Rhodes came, he was rushed and fear shone in his eyes as he dragged Tony to his feet. The fear was replaced with barely concealed anger when he learned Potts was in trouble.

“Go!” Tony said harshly. “I’ll meet you there.” And there Tony went again, talking with his eyes. Protect her, save her in case I can’t, is what he was really saying and Rhodes nodded, as if he understood, and was gone.

The suit, as it assembled itself around Tony, was beautiful. He’d seen it before, sure, but he’d never seen Tony this furious and it was glorious. It wasn’t just in his eyes anymore; it was in the way he moved, the hard line of his jaw, the set to his shoulders. But his eyes? God, they were downright terrifying and Bucky knew Stane wouldn’t make it to tomorrow.

Turns out, he was right.

The fight wasn’t long, but it wasn’t easy and Bucky tried his damndest to help, but it’s a little hard when you’re a fucking ghost. So he was stuck watching once more as Tony flew a hand out to catch Stane before he could fall into the pit of the malfunctioning, full scale arc reactor.

He’d hadn’t felt fear like this in such a long time, not since long nights propping Stevie up when his asthma set in, or when some asshole beat Stevie up because Stevie, the punk, was too fucking patriotic to let injustices slide. He hadn’t felt anger like this since he’d learned what Hydra had turned James Buchanan Barnes into; he dived towards Stane with a fucking scream, shoving him away from Tony, trying to get the younger Stark to let go, to let the fuckin’ bastard die- but he wasn’t expecting it to work, wasn’t expecting to meet any resistance when he pushed but yes, there it was, his hand met smooth metal as he shoved Stane off the edge. An explosion happened, he thought, but things went dark after that.

When he awoke, he was in a press conference, so much like the first one that he was confused. He heard Rhodes whisper “stick to the cards” and saw Tony looking out onto the crowd of reporters.

“There’s been some speculation that I was involved in the events that occurred on the freeway and the rooftop…” Tony was cut off by a pretty female reporter who sat calmly as she questioned.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but do you really expect us to believe that that was a bodyguard in a suit that conveniently appeared despite the fact that-”

“Look, I know it’s confusing. It is one thing to question the official story, but another thing entirely to make wild accusations or insinuate in any way that I am a superhero.”

“I never said you were a superhero,” the blonde said, tilting her head slightly.  

“Didn’t you?” Tony questioned and Bucky stepped closer, peering over Tony’s shoulder at the cards. Well, that wasn’t even remotely close to what he was supposed to be saying. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Potts and Rhodes were not very pleased about this new turn of events.

“Mm.”

“Well, good, because that would just be outlandish and, uh, fantastic. I’m just not the hero type. Clearly. With this laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I’ve made, largely public.”

Bucky frowned and sighed.

“Don’t be such an idiot,” he said on deaf ears. “You’re perfect the way you are, punk.”

“Just stick to the cards, man,” Rhodes whispered and Tony sighed.

“Yeah, okay. The truth is…” Tony held up his note cards and paused, blinking down at them. “The truth is…” he repeated, seeming stuck on something, before he looked up, straight into the flashing camera’s as he put his cards back on the pedestal.

“I am Ironman.”

Bucky realized then, that he was truly and utterly in love with Tony Stark.

And in that moment, he knew he was truly and utterly fucked.

_(He never did figure out when "Stark" became "Tony")._

__

*

Everything was fine, and then Vanko came and shit went down with him, Tony almost died again and Bucky swore on his death bed (hah!) that, since becoming Tony’s tag-along, he’d never worried this much. Not even with Stevie, who had an asthma attack or got beat up every five fucking seconds.

It wasn’t until Loki came crashing in, though, that shit really hit the fan.

Of course, Tony claimed he didn’t work well with others, blah-blah-blah, even as he spent the rest of the evening learning thermonuclear astrophysics for Fury and the rest of the so-called team.

And damn it all to hell, God must’ve hated him because that was when Tony met Steve Rogers for the first time, and Bucky felt like he’d been sucker punched in the chest; damn it, that was his Stevie and his Tony going at it like they hated each other. Trying to pick a side was hard, especially when he realized that he could bounce between the two; he just had to stay stuck with one of them instead of just Tony. He was constantly torn between going to find the man he’d been stuck with for the past four years, and going to find the best friend he’d had when he was still James Buchanan Barnes.

So he bounced between the two, but the decision wasn’t well and truly made until the blow up argument between the two in the Helicarrier.

“Yeah? Take off the suit, what are you?” Steve snarled, and that? That was not the Stevie he knew. This was a whole new person; this was Captain America, leader of the Avengers.

Tony met Steve’s gaze head on, but Bucky could still see the emotions swimming through those dark brown depths, expressive as always but no one saw past the cold exterior he produced.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.” The answer was quick and sharp, no hesitation; Bucky had always found it odd- for a man who never forgot the words spoken to him, who agonized over them and took them to heart, Tony sure knew how to throw out quick-witted self-fulfilling comments, knew how to volley words like a soccer player, never faltering.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.” The words hit home, Bucky knew it, and he wanted to scream. He threw himself between the two men, but it did nothing; they looked right through him because really, he wasn’t even there. “You’re not the guy to lay down on the wire, make the sacrifice play.”

“You know, Rogers, I think I’d just cut the wire.” Tony said as he turned his eyes back to Steve. Steve huffed a bitter laugh and turned his eyes to the rest of the group before turning back to Tony.

“That’s right. Always a way out, right, Stark? You can do whatever you want, but quit pretending to be the hero.”

“Steve!” Bucky yelled into the cold face of his best friend, but there was no reaction, no flicker in those icy blue eyes.

“A hero? Like you? Rogers, you’re a laboratory experiment. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.” Bucky flinched on Stevie’s behalf, because dammit that wasn’t true, that wasn’t fair, but neither was Roger’s and it was all hurting so bad-

“Put on the suit. Guess we’ll see.”

“Sure you could keep up, old man?”

Steve’s face hardened.

“Put on the suit.” They were chest to chest now, passing right through Bucky like he wasn’t even there, and really, he wasn’t, but it was too chaotic, too painful, too heavy-

-but then it got worse, because there was a fucking explosion and everyone was sent flying in different directions. Bucky scrambled back to his feet, eyes seeking out his charges through the smoke and there they were, uninjured but shocked. They were both scrambling to their feet, though, Stevie helping Tony when he staggered and coughed, and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief because that? That was the Stevie he knew.

The attack was over as fast as it had happened, and Coulson was dead and Tony was hurting; Stevie and Tony had a civil conversation, in which involved a bit of yelling about soldier’s, but ultimately led to the conclusion that Loki was going to Stark Tower, the fucking beacon of clean energy because really, who wouldn’t? It was, strategically, the best place to open up a portal to space. Which, to be honest, Bucky was still having trouble wrapping his mind around that one. Portals? To god damn space? Hell, those were things from science fiction novels.

Of course Tony, the idiot, had to be the hero he wasn’t _(he was, but it appeared only Bucky knew that)_ and fly the damn nuke into space. And for some reason, Bucky couldn’t follow him up there. So he waited anxiously, staring up at that closing portal for any sign of his Tony, practically screamed at Steve not to close the portal when he said to do it…watched as first awe, then shock, then anger came over Steve when Tony flew into that portal, watched as a new respect was born for the man he might never see again…watched as Tony fell back through the portal lifelessly.

The Hulk caught him, of course, and Bucky could breathe again, but only barely because he wasn’t fucking moving. It took a bone-chilling roar of anguish from the Hulk to bring the man back or wake him up or whatever the hell it was that needed to be done, but it worked.

But when those brown eyes opened, Tony Stark let out a yelp and scrambled backwards, wide-eyes solely on Bucky, which really, it could’ve been a coincidence, it had to be, maybe there was someone behind him, but-

“Barnes?” Tony gasped, ignoring the concerned looks this gained from the rest of the team.

“I- you can see me?” Bucky asked, gaping at Tony, probably doing as good an imitation of a fish out of water as Tony was.

“Yes?” Tony questioned and oh god, this was so wonderfully amazing and so terribly bad that Bucky wasn’t sure what he could do besides gape helplessly at Tony.

Shit, meet fan.

**AFTER:**

Tony Stark shook his head, as if he were seeing a ghost, which, okay, yeah, that was fair; as far as he had been concerned, Bucky had been dead for years. But he was very much not dead, thank you very much, and that made all the difference in the world. You know, being alive-wise.

“You almost died, punk!” he screeched, lost as to what else he could do and yeah, maybe yelling at the guy who knew he’d almost died and was sure he was seeing a ghost wasn’t the best idea but dammit, what else was there to do? Nothing, nothing was the answer; there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do-

“Stark?” Steve’s voice cut through Bucky’s internal ramblings and he blinked himself to the present, only to see Tony was busy reattaching the faceplate to the helmet, closing it over his face.

“No time to talk, gotta run,” Tony said, as if he actually had something to busy himself with right now.

“Stark, we just saved New York. You’ve literally got nothing better to do,” Hawkeye replied, too busy cleaning off one of his arrows and pretending he hadn’t just stared at Tony’s lifeless body to look up.

“Actually,” Tony protested mildly, holding up a metal encased finger. “There’s a lot better that I could be- and plan to be- doing.”

Tony’s eyes were hidden behind the faceplate, now, and that bugged Bucky more than it had any right to. It’s not like he and Tony were dating or anything. Hell, up until this point, Tony didn’t even know Bucky existed, let alone that he’d been following Tony around for years-

“Stark-” Steve tried again, but Tony shook his head.

“Yeah, I know, next time I’ll leave the saving to the heroes, I got it; you can ground me later, mom.” Tony took off into the air but paused, hovering a few feet off the ground. “Say hi to dad for me, Cap. Tell him I’ll take his other eye out if he ever does that to me again.”

“Does what, Stark?”

“Makes me ruin the paint job,” Tony replied, motioning to the scratched paint of the suit, and then he was off without a backwards glance.

The impending darkness clouded Bucky’s vision soon after, and he was out.

When he awoke, he was on an island.

A big ass, middle of nowhere fucking island.

And next to him sat Tony Stark, sprawled out in the sand with a bottle of liquor in hand, looking immaculately good despite his bruises and scrapes and the overall “I just almost died” look he was sporting.

He didn’t seem to notice Bucky was awake yet, so Bucky took the time to look; his hair was messy in all the right ways, his deep brown eyes were tired and layered with exhaustion, shock making them shine. He looked utterly relaxed; anyone who happened to see him _(which, let him point out again; island in the middle of nowhere)_ would think so too. But Bucky could hear the shallow breaths, could see the jump of his pulse in his neck, the sweat beaded on his brow…from what Bucky had seen in the war, this looked a helluva lot like PTSD. Which…was really not good.

“You gonna stare or talk, Barnes?”

The voice startled Bucky from his thoughts and he winced, looking up guiltily at Tony, who was gazing down at him with tired eyes. No, tired didn’t even begin to cover it. Even saying he looked exhausted was putting it lightly. Tony Stark looked like death warmed over, and Bucky desperately wanted to fix, but he knew it wasn’t his place, especially not now.

“Right. Um. What should I…”

“I know I’m not dead,” Tony interrupted. “But I know you are. So that sort of makes me wonder why, and how it is you’re sitting here, talking to me like nothing ever happened, because something certainly did happen. On top of that rather startling epiphany, there’s another, that one being the fact that I seem to be the only one who can see you, but I’m really hoping I’m wrong because that just brings up a whole slew of problems that I’d really rather not deal with.”

Bucky fell silent again, gazing sadly at Tony as he sat up, and that seemed to be all the answer Tony needed; his shoulders slumped, his eyes fell closed, and he took a long drink from the bottle in his hand.

So, Bucky started at the beginning; his friendship with Stevie, how they’d both joined the army. How he’d fallen off a moving train while Captain America (his Captain America, his Steve) screamed his name with desperate air from his post-asthmatic lungs.

He told him how he’d been found by Hydra, how the Winter Soldier was the asset, the puppet, subjected to mind control and memory wiping just for the sake of getting someone who wouldn’t fight back, who was stronger and faster and smarter, who was submissive and never argued.

The perfect Soldier.

He told Tony about how the Winter Soldier had killed Howard and Maria Stark, and the butler that had been driving _(he’d made sure Tony knew it hadn’t been Howard who had been driving, hadn’t been some drunken accident)_ and how Bucky had stared in horror, screaming and begging the Soldier to just stop, stop killing my friends but was unable to do a thing.

He told Tony how terrifying and grounding it had been, being stuck by his side for the past four years. How Tony was his mentor, his rock, his hero.

I love you, he thought.

But he didn’t say it.

Because that wasn’t something Tony needed to hear from him. Not from the guy who’d been following him around for the past four years. Not from the guy with a metal arm and no real body. Not from Bucky. Never from him.

After that, Tony agreed to help him get his body back.

And god, did he help.

He kept it all a secret, though. Didn’t tell another living soul; he told Jarvis, of course, but that was so much different than telling the Widow or Steve. Jarvis wouldn’t tell anyone unless his creator asked.

They could trust that.

Tony spent more time in his lab and less time with his team. He built them new gadgets and toys, upgrading the things they already had and slipping them back before anyone could notice. He’d built them their own floors, given the wayward, broken men and woman a home. They were a ragtag group, and no one, not a single time, said anything resembling a thank you. Tony spent most of his time making sure they didn’t have to, or didn’t want to; he’d make witty remarks and stinging comments; sarcastic bickering and sharp comebacks. He put up a showman’s façade and by god, was it believable. This was the Tony Stark mask he’d spent years creating, molding, piecing together until Tony Stark was an entirely different person than the one he’d been born, than Anthony.

Bucky remembered one moment where he’d absolutely screamed at Steve to thank Tony, to recognize every god damn thing Tony did for him, for all of them; Steve had been angry about some mission gone wrong. Everyone had been wrung out, exhausted both emotionally and physically. Civilians had died, everyone had some injury to show for it. And Stevie had taken out his frustration on Tony, who’d made a different call than what Captain America had ordered him to do. It had been the right call, and that was when Bucky lost it. That’s when he’d screamed at Steve- at everyone- to stop being so god damned blind to everything Tony did for them.

Tony wouldn’t talk to him, not until he apologized.

So, Bucky had sulked for approximately three minutes and forty seven seconds before giving up, gathering his pride and apologizing to Tony.

It was a year later, when the Winter Soldier went after Bucky’s best friend and Tony’s team leader, Stevie and Captain America; a year later when Bucky got his body back.

But he couldn’t find a way to get back inside.

Sure, they had a lifeless, puppet of a man in their dining room and their kitchen and the guest room and library. But it wasn’t Bucky. It was still the Winter Soldier. Still the mind washed, memory wiped shell of the man Bucky used to be.

But then.

Then, Tony being the genius he was, he figured out a way to tie the two of them together, a way to get

Bucky back.

Tony had explained, of course, in that rushed babble-y way he does when he’s excited, going on and on in words Bucky didn’t understand, too fast for him to catch anyways.

But that was alright, because Tony had tried, and Tony had done.

All he knew was that one second, he was staring down at his puppet body, wishing he could be pulling the strings again and the next thing he knew, he was pulling the strings again.

It was the most disconcerting thing he’d ever felt and he never wanted to feel it again.

But soon his vision was coming into focus, all the aches and pains tingling throughout his body, the constant throb where the metal was fused to his shoulder _(he had an arm again)_ , there was a gentle hand rubbing his back in firm, soothing circles and god, what a thing it was, just being able to feel again.

Before he could stop himself, before he had a chance to think or breathe or otherwise move, he was springing forward and capturing Tony’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to those soft, plump ones of the genius before him.

It was nothing like he’d imagined and everything he’d never realized he’d wanted; he’d been waiting to do this since he first laid eyes on the handsome genius, wondering if those lips were as soft as they felt (they were), if he tasted like the sun and the moon and the stars (he did), if he kissed like you were the only thing he’d ever want, like he’d never stop, like you would be his forever (he did).

But what startled him most was the fact that Tony kissed back, that Tony moaned out a soft “ _James_ ….”, that Tony’s hands were on his back and in his hair and everywhere, touching and pressing and pulling him closer, closer, closer until he thought he would drown in him.

“Funny,” Tony gasped once they’d parted, heaving in air like a drowning man. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you. Always wondered what it would be like.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, smiled at his beautiful, chaotic Anthony, met the genius’s eyes and felt his heart race at the lust and the kindness and the care and the love _(that one was the most shocking of them all)_ in those deep, brown orbs.

Naturally, the moment was ruined by the sound of Clint shrieking and gagging.

Tony spun on his heel, barking sharply at his fellow teammate,

“Out.”

And out Clint went, blabbering on about nightmares and going blind _(“I’m already deaf, I don’t need to go blind, too”)_ , and Tony just smiled giddily and threw himself at Bucky, wrapping his arms tightly around him and Bucky couldn’t help but think that yes, this is where I belong.

“Tony,” Bucky began, his head resting on top of Tony’s, because he had to know, had to know that Tony wasn’t mad, wouldn’t kick him out, wouldn’t leave him because of the Winter Soldier, that he was sorry, so sorry-

“Don’t,” Tony said softly. “Don’t apologize.” Because Tony knew. Tony always knew. “You’re mine, James, all mine and I’m yours. Nothing will change that, you know why? Because we’re both too broken, too chaotic, too absolutely shattered; and ultimately, that’s what’s going to keep us together.” He paused, shook his head and added;

“That wasn’t you. I know that wasn’t you, because this is you, and this is us.”

See, the thing about Tony Stark, Bucky realized, is that he’s a giver. He’ll give and give and give until there’s nothing left of himself, and he’ll give some more if it means it’ll make you happy. That’s what he does, it’s who he is.

And Tony gave Bucky his heart that day, let him hold it close, see a side of him he never thought he’d get to see. Because Bucky got to see the emotions in his eyes, the love and the previous pain of heartbreak; he gave his heart to Bucky, trusting him not to break it all over again, trusting him to love and protect it.

The thing about Bucky, though, is that he’s selfish. He would take and take and take until there was no single part of Tony that didn’t belong to him, that wasn’t his own. He would claim the genius, make sure they both became each other’s world and he wouldn’t stop until he’d accomplished that because, if there was anything he wanted to be, ever, it was Tony’s.

And it’s funny, really, because he’s never been in love before…he’d never realized there was a difference between ‘love’ and ‘in love’. Because Tony is a genius, and he’s snarky and witty and he feels so god damn much and shows so god damn little; Tony is infuriating and he likes to push, likes to see how far he can make you go, see if he can find your breaking point because you are his breaking point; Tony has a sharp tongue and a mind that runs a mile a minute, and half the time Bucky can’t even keep up with him.

He’s never loved like this, either; he’s never wanted to hold someone just for the sake of holding them; never wanted to make someone smile just to see the dimples curving their cheeks, the crinkles at the corners of their eyes; never wanted to make someone laugh just to see the way their nose scrunches up, hear the breathless little snort at the end; never wanted to kiss someone just to see what they tasted like.

Tony’s face nuzzled into his neck, beard scratching warmly at his skin as the genius pressed a kiss to Bucky’s pulse point, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath his lips.

“I love you, James.”

Tony whispered it like a prayer, the words worshipping and caressing like he was writing hymns across Bucky’s skin and maybe he was, or maybe that’s just how Tony Stark was when he was in love.

“I love you too, Anthony.”

See, the thing about Bucky Barnes, or the Winter Soldier or whatever it is that people are calling him now is that, well, he’s not.

He’s not either of those people, not anymore.

Bucky is what he wants himself to be, and that makes him what Tony wants him to be because Tony’s never needed him to be anyone but himself.

He remembers, a long time ago, hearing stories; stories about heroes, and soldiers and villains, about the young dame and the knight in shining armor.

He remembers Tony telling him about the Howling Commandoes and Captain America and the comic books that depicted them as heroes; about how Bucky was the ex-army hero, best friend to Captain America, and how he became the bad guy after he’d fallen off Zola’s train.

He doesn’t remember becoming one of those stories.  
And he doesn’t care.

Because now he doesn’t have to be the ex-army hero, or the bad guy.

Because now, he’s himself.

He’s James.

And that’s all he ever has to be.

**  
**  


**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the WinterIron Bang. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> HUGE shoutout to my artist on Tumblr, Cat-Solari!


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